Smoky the Cowhorse

By Will James

First published in 1926 and awarded the Newbery Medal in 1927, “Smoky the Cowhorse” is the heartfelt and dramatic tale of a horse in the final days of the Old West by Will James, a French-Canadian artist and author of numerous cowboy stories. Based loosely on the author’s own horse named Smoky and his days spent cow wrangling in Saskatchewan before moving to the United States, “Smoky the Cowhorse” follows the titular horse through his life from birth to old age. Smoky is born a wild horse, but is captured and tamed by a cowboy named Clint. Under Clint’s kind guidance, Smoky leads a peaceful life and becomes known as the best cowhorse around. However, Smoky soon experiences great hardship when he is stolen by a cruel horse thief and beaten when he refuses to be ridden. Smoky becomes violent and grows to hate people, a situation made worse when he is forced to work in a rodeo as a bucking bronco. Fortunately, Smoky is eventually rescued by Clint and lives out the rest of his life under Clint’s gentle care. This timeless story of kindness and devotion will be cherished and enjoyed by all those who love horses and cowboy tales.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Digireads.com Publishing
• Release date: Feb 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781420980912

Book preview

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Smoky the Cowhorse

By Will James

Print ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-8078-3

eBook ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-8091-2

This edition copyright © 2022. Digireads.com Publishing.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Cover Image: a detail of Turn Him Loose, Bill, by Frederic Remington, c. 1893 (oil on canvas) / Peter Newark Western Americana / Bridgeman Images.

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CONTENTS

Preface

Chapter I. A Range Colt

Chapter II. Smoky Meets the Human

Chapter III. Where the Trails Fork

Chapter IV. The End of a Rope

Chapter V. The Bronc Twister Steps Up

Chapter VI. The Squeak of Leather

Chapter VII. Smoky Shows His Feelings

Chapter VIII. Smoky Starts Out

Chapter IX. Fights for Rights

Chapter X. Amongst the Missing

Chapter XI. The Feel of a Strange Hand

Chapter XII. When the Good Leaves

Chapter XIII. A Many-Men Horse

Chapter XIV. Dark Clouds, Then Tall Grass

Preface

To my way of thinking there’s something wrong, or missing, with any person who hasn’t got a soft spot in their heart for an animal of some kind. With most folks the dog stands highest as man’s friend, then comes the horse, with others the cat is liked best as a pet, or a monkey is fussed over; but whatever kind of animal it is a person likes, it’s all hunkydory so long as there’s a place in the heart for one or a few of them.

I’ve never yet went wrong in sizing up a man by the kind of a horse he rode. A good horse always packs a good man, and I’ve always dodged the hombre what had no thought nor liking for his horse or other animals, for I figger that kind of gazabo is best to be left unacquainted with. No good would ever come of the meeting.

With me, my weakness lays towards the horse. My life, from the time I first squinted at daylight, has been with horses. I admire every step that creathure makes. I know them and been thru so much with ’em that I’ve come to figger a big mistake was made when the horse was classed as an animal. To me, the horse is man’s greatest, most useful, faithful, and powerful friend. He never whines when he’s hungry or sore footed or tired, and he’ll keep on a going for the human till he drops.

The horse is not appreciated and never will be appreciated enough,—few humans, even them that works him, really know him, but then there’s so much to know about him. I’ve wrote this book on only one horse and when I first started it I was afraid I’d run out of something to write, but I wasn’t half thru when I begin to realize I had to do some squeezing to get the things in I wanted; and when I come to the last chapter was when I seen how if I spent my life writing on the horse alone and lived to be a hundred I’d only said maybe half of what I feel ought to be said.

The horse I wrote of in this book is not an exception, there’s quite a few like him. He’s not a fiction horse that’s wrote about in a dream and made to do things that’s against the nature of a horse to do. Smoky is just a horse, but all horse; and that I think is enough said.

As for Clint, the cowboy who started Smoky, he’s no exception either. He’s just a man who was able to see and bring out the good that was in the horse—and no matter how some writers describe the cowboy’s handling of horses, I’m here to say that I can produce many a cowboy what can show feelings for a horse the same as Clint done.

But Smoky met other humans besides Clint, many others, and of all kinds, and that’s where the story comes in. And now, my main ambition as I turn Smoky loose to making hisself acquainted is that the folks who will get to know him will see that horse as I seen him.

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Chapter I. A Range Colt

It seemed like Mother Nature was sure agreeable that day when the little black colt came to the range world, and tried to get a footing with his long wobblety legs on the brown prairie sod. Short stems of new green grass was trying to make their way up thru the last year’s faded growth, and reaching for the sun’s warm rays. Taking in all that could be seen, felt, and inhaled, there was no day, time, nor place that could beat that spring morning on the sunny side of the low prairie butte where Smoky the colt was foaled.

Smoky wouldn’t have fitted the colt as a name just then on account he was jet black, but that name wasn’t attached onto him till he was a four-year-old, which was when he first started being useful as a saddle horse. He didn’t see the first light of day thru no box stall window, and there was no human around to make a fuss over him and try to steady him on his feet for them first few steps. Smoky was just a little range colt, and all the company he had that first morning of his life was his watchful mammy.

Smoky wasn’t quite an hour old when he begin to take interest in things. The warm spring sun was doing its work and kept a pouring warmth all over that slick little black hide, and right on thru his little body, till pretty soon his head come up kinda shaky and he begin nosing around them long front legs that was stretched out in front of him. His mammy was close by him, and at the first move the colt made she rim her nose along his short neck and nickered. Smoky’s head went up another two inches at the sound, and his first little answering nicker was heard. Of course a person would of had to listen mighty close to hear it, but then if you’d a watched his nostrils quivering you could tell that’s just what he was trying to do.

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That was the starting of Smoky. Pretty soon his ears begin to work back and forth towards the sound his mammy would make as she moved. He was trying to locate just where she was. Then something moved right in front of his nose about a foot; it’d been there quite a good spell but he’d never realized it before; besides his vision was a little dim yet and he wasn’t interested much till that something moved again and planted itself still closer.

Being it was right close he took a sniff at it. That sniff recorded itself into his brain and as much as told him that all was well. It was one of his mammy’s legs. His ears perked up and he tried nickering again with a heap better result than the first time.

One good thing called for another and natural like he made a sudden scramble to get up, but his legs wouldn’t work right, and just about when he’d got his belly clear of the ground, and as he was resting there for another try at the rest of the way up, one of his front legs quivered and buckled at the elbow, and the whole works went down.

He layed there flat on his side and breathing hard. His mammy nickered encouragement, and it wasn’t long when his head was up again and his legs spraddled out all around him the same as before. He was going to try again, but next time he was going to be more sure of his ground. He was studying it seemed like, and sniffing of his legs and then the earth, like he was trying to figger out how he was going to get one to stand up on the other. His mammy kept a circling around and a talking to him in horse language; she’d give him a shove with her nose then walk away and watch him.

The spring air, which I think is most for the benefit of all that’s young, had a lot to do to keep Smoky from laying still for very long. His vision was getting clearer fast, and his strength was coming in just as fast. Not far away, but still too far for Smoky to see, was little calves, little white-faced fellers a playing and bucking around and letting out wall-eyed bellers at their mammies, running out a ways and then running back, tails up, at a speed that’d make a greyhound blush for shame.

There was other little colts too all a cavorting around and tearing up good sod, but with all them calves and colts that was with the bunches of cattle or horses scattered out on the range, the same experience of helplessness that Smoky was going thru had been theirs for a spell, and a few hadn’t been as lucky as Smoky in their first squint at daylight. Them few had come to the range world when the ground was still covered with snow, or else cold spring rains was a pouring down to wet ’em to the bone.

Smoky’s mother had sneaked out of the bunch a few days before Smoky came, and hid in a lonely spot where she’d be sure that no cattle nor horses or even riders would be around. In a few days, and when Smoky would be strong enough to lope out, she’d go back again; but in the meantime she wanted to be alone with her colt and put all her attention on him, without having to contend with chasing off big inquisitive geldings or jealous fillies.

She was of range blood, which means mostly mustang with strains of Steeldust or Coach throwed in. If hard winters come and the range was covered with heavy snows, she knowed of high ridges where the strong winds kept a few spots bare and where feed could be got. If droughts came to dry up the grass and water holes, she sniffed the air for moisture and drifted out acrost the plain which was her home range, to the high mountains where things was more normal. There was cougars and wolves in that high country, but her mustang instinct made her the fittest. She circled around and never went under where the lion was perched a waiting for her, and the wolf never found her where she could be cornered.

Smoky had inherited that same instinct of his mammy’s, but on that quiet spring morning he wasn’t at all worried about enemies. His mammy was there, and besides he had a hard job ahead that was taking all of his mind to figger out: that was to stand on them long things which was fastened to his body and which kept a spraddling out in all directions.

The first thing to do was to gather ’em under him and try again. He did that easy enough, and then he waited and gathered up all the strength that was in him. He sniffed at the ground to make sure it was there and then his head went up, his front feet stretched out in front of him, and with his hind legs all under him, he used all that strength he’d been storing up and pushed himself up on his front feet, his hind legs straightened up to steady him; and as luck would have it there was just enough distance between each leg to keep him up there. All be had to do was to keep them legs stiff and from buckling up under him, which wasn’t at all easy, cause getting up to where he was had used up a lot of his strength, and them long legs of his was doing a heap of shaking.

All would of been well maybe, only his mammy nickered that’s a good boy, and that’s what queered Smoky. His head went up proud as a peacock and he forgot all about keeping his props stiff and under him. Down he went the whole length of his legs, and there he layed the same as before.

But he didn’t lay long this time. He either liked the sport of going up and coming down or else he was getting peeved; he was up again, mighty shaky, but he was up sure enough. His mammy came to him. She sniffed at him and he sniffed back. Then nature played another hand and he nursed, the first nourishment was took in, his tummy warmed up and strength came fast. Smoky was an hour and a half old and up to stay.

The rest of that day was full of events for Smoky. He explored the whole country, went up big mountains two feet high, wide valleys six or eight feet acrost, and at one time was as far as twelve feet away from his mammy all by himself. He shied at a rock once; it was a dangerous-looking rock, and he kicked at it as he went past. All that action being put on at once come pretty near being too much for him and he come close to measuring his whole length on Mother Earth once again. But luck was with him, and taking it all he had a mighty good time. When the sun went to sinking over the blue ridges in the West, Smoky, he missed all the beauty of the first sunset in his life;—he was stretched out full length, of his own accord this time, and sound asleep.

The night was a mighty good rival of what the day had been. All the stars was out and showing off, and the braves was a chasing the buffalo plum around the Big Dipper, the water hole of The Happy Hunting Grounds. But all that was lost to Smoky; he was still asleep and recuperating from his first day’s adventures, and most likely he’d kept on sleeping for a good long spell, only his mammy who was standing guard over him happened to get a little too close and stepped on his tail.

Smoky must of been in the middle of some bad dream. His natural instinct might of pictured some enemy to his mind, and something that looked like a wolf or a bear must of had him cornered for sure. Anyway, when he felt his tail pinched that way he figgered that when a feller begins to feel it’s sure time to act, and he did. He shot up right under his mammy’s chin, let out a squeal, and stood there ready to fight. He took in the country for feet and feet around and looking for the enemy that’d nipped him, and finally in his scouting around that way he run acrost the shadow of his mammy. That meant but one thing, safety; and that accounted for and put away as past left room for a craving he’d never noticed in his excitement. He was hungry, and proceeded right then and there to take on a feed of his mammy’s warm, rich milk.

The sky was beginning to get light in the East, the stars was fading away and the buffalo hunters had went to rest. A few hours had passed since Smoky had been woke up out of his bad dream and there he was, asleep again. He’d missed his first sunset and now he was sleeping thru his first sunrise, but he was going to be prepared for that new day’s run, and the strength he was accumulating through them sleeps and between feeds would sure make him fit to cover a lot of territory.

There wasn’t a move out of him till the sun was well up and beginning to throw a good heat. He stacked up on a lot of that heat, and pretty soon one of his ears moved, then the other. He took a long breath and stretched. Smoky was coming to life.—His mammy nickered, and that done the trick; Smoky raised his head, looked around, and proceeded to get up. After a little time that was done and bowing his neck he stretched again. Smoky was ready for another day.

The big day started right after Smoky had his feed; then his mother went to grazing and moving away straight to the direction of some trees a mile or so to the south. A clear spring was by them trees, and water is what Smoky’s mammy wanted the most right then. She was craving for a drink of that cold water, but you’d never thought it by the way she traveled. She’d nose around at the grass and wait for spells, so as little Smoky could keep up with her and still find time to investigate everything what throwed a shadow.

A baby cottontail had jumped up once right under his nose, stood there a second too scared to move, and pretty soon made a high dive between the colt’s long legs and hit for his hole; Smoky never seen the rabbit or even knowed he was there or he might of been running yet, cause that’s what he’d been looking for, an excuse to run. But he finally made up an excuse, and a while later as he brushed past a long dry weed and it tickled his belly, he let out a squeal and went from there.

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His long legs tangled and untangled themselves as he run, and he was sure making speed. Around and around he went and finally lined out straight away from where his mammy was headed. She nickered for him and waited, all patience. He turned after a spell and headed for his mammy again the same as tho he’d run acrost another enemy at the other end; and as he got close to his mammy he let out a buck, a squeal, a snort, and stopped,—he was sure some little wild horse.

It took a couple of hours for them two to make that mile to the spring. The mother drank a lot of that good water, a few long breaths and drank some more till the thirst was all gone. Smoky came over and nosed at the pool, but he didn’t take on any of the fluid, it looked just like so much thin air to him, the same with the tender green grass that was beginning to grow in bunches everywhere; it was just growing for him to run on.

The rest of that day was pretty well used up around that one spot; adventures of all kinds was numerous for Smoky, and when he wasn’t stretched out and asleep there was plenty of big stumps in the cottonwood grove that could be depended on to give him the scare he’d be looking for.

But there was other things and more threatening than stumps which Smoky hadn’t as yet spotted, like for instance,—a big cayote had squatted and been watching him thru dead willow branches. He wasn’t at all interested in the action Smoky was putting into his play, and only wished the colt’s mammy would move away a little further when he would then take a chance and try to get him down,—colt meat was his favorite dish and he sure wasn’t going to let no chance slip by even if it took a whole day’s waiting for one to show itself.

A couple of chances had come his way but they was queered by Smoky’s mammy being too close, and he knowed better than show himself and get run down by them hoofs of hers. Finally, and when he seen his appetite wouldn’t win anything by sticking around that spot any longer, he took a last sniff and came out of his hiding place. Keeping the willows between him and the horses, he loped out till he was at a safe running distance and where he could see all around him, and there he squatted again, in plain sight this time. He hadn’t quite made up his mind as yet whether to go or stick around a while longer.—Just about then Smoky spots him.

To him, the cayote was just another stump, but more interesting than the others he’d kicked at, on account that this stump moved, and that promised a lot of excitement. With a bowed neck and kinked tail Smoky trotted up towards the cayote. The cayote just set there and waited and when the colt got to within a few feet from him, he started away and just fast enough so as the colt’s curiosity would make him follow. If he could only get the colt over the ridge and out of his mammy’s sight.

It all was only a lot of fun to Smoky, and besides he was bound to find out what was that grey and yellow object that could move and run and didn’t at all look like his mammy. His instinct was warning him steady as he went, but curiosity had the best of him, and it wasn’t till he was over the hill before his instinct got above his curiosity and he seen that all wasn’t well.

The cayote had turned and quicker than a flash made a jump for Smoky’s throat.—The generations of mustang blood that’d fought the lobo and cougar, and which was the same blood that flowed in Smoky’s veins, is all that saved the colt. That inherited instinct made him do the right thing at the right time, he whirled quicker than lightning and let fly with both hind feet with the result that the cayote’s teeth just pinched the skin under his jaws. But even at that, he wasn’t going to get rid of his enemy (it was a sure enough enemy this time) that easy, and as he kicked he felt the weight of the cayote, and then a sharp pain on his ham strings.

Smoky was scared, and he let out a squeal that sure made every living thing in that neighborhood set up and wonder; it was a plain and loud distress signal, and it was answered. His mammy shot up the hill, took in the goings-on at a glance, and ears back, teeth a shining, tore up the earth and lit into the battle like a ton of dynamite.

The battle was over in a second, and with hunks of yellow fur a flying all directions it wound up in a chase. The cayote was in the lead and he stayed in the lead till a second hill took him out of sight.

Smoky was glad to follow his mammy back to the spring and on to the other side a ways. He didn’t shy at the stumps he passed on the way, and the twig that tickled his tummy didn’t bring no play. He was hungry and tired, and when the first was tended to and his appetite called for no more he lost no time to picking out a place to rest his weary bones. A thin stream of blood was drying on one of his hind legs, but there was no pain, and when the sun set and the shadow of his mammy spread out over him he was sound asleep, and maybe dreaming of stumps, of stumps that moved.

When the sun came up the next morning, Smoky was up too, and eyes half closed was standing still as the big boulder next to him and sunned himself. A

Reviews for Smoky the Cowhorse

[jjmcgaffey · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

It's Black Beauty, only not as well written. Happy colthood, humans train him to be useful and he bonds with one particular man. I was amused to note that in his first encounter with humans, he's branded and the book specifically says that's all that happens...but after that, "the colt" is referred to as "the gelding". Hmm. And then he's stolen, abused, trained to buck, stops being abused and eventually loses the hatred that made him such a good bucking horse. So he's sold, and sold, and sold, going lower each time, until he's half-starved and still being forced to pull a heavy wagon. And then he's saved - his one particular man discovers and rescues him. Yay. The ending was nice, Smoky doesn't suddenly become happy and healthy and regain his trust in humans - it takes a while. But eventually, a happy ending. The story was trite. The dialect that was used throughout - not just speech (in fact that was often clearer) but description and narration - drove me nuts. I don't know if it's an accurate depiction of some dialect, but it utterly did not work for me. It reads awkwardly, sounding like a put-on accent, and...it just sounds unlikely, not like anything a real person would say (word choice (and spelling of same), phrases, everything read fake to me). It made it very hard to read the story - which wasn't worth the effort. Not a winner.

[ladycato · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I was on a convention panel talking about horse books last weekend, and author Will James came up. I remembered that I owned a library discard of his classic book Smoky, that I probably haven't read since I was 9 or 10. Before I bought this discard copy, even. I needed to read a classic book for my goal this month, so I decided to read this one for the first time in decades.Oooooh boy. How to sum this up.First of all, there's no way this would be a kid book these days. All the major human characters are adults. There is rampant animal abuse, even by the 'good guy.' And wow, is this book racist. Jaw-droppingly so. The major villain is described as "being a breed of Mexican and other blood that's darker" and is often just named as "the breed," and is so abusive to the titular character that the horse straight-out tries to kill every man with dark skin for years afterward.Yeah.The thing is, the first 2/3 of the book is actually a decent horse book, complete with beautiful action-packed illustrations by the author. James is an incredibly descriptive writer, and the chapters on Smoky's colthood on the range and his training (which is cringe-worthy in some ways) and growing relationship with Clint is fascinating in its deep detail. But then Smoky is stolen, and the book decides to go "Black Beauty on a western-grimdark" route.The good news is, I feel like I can now donate-away this hardcover book that I've been hauling around for over twenty years. I definitely won't be reading it again, now do I feel much inclined to pick up Will James's other books.

[abigailadams26 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Winner of the 1927 Newbery Medal, this children's novel about a mouse-colored cow-horse named Smoky has been favorably compared to that classic (and pioneering) pony story, Black Beauty, and I think the pairing is rather apt. Both books follow the same basic narrative trajectory, beginning with a horse whose owners are responsible and kind, following him through his early years of prosperity and well-being, his traumatic middle years, suffering at the hands of less enlightened human beings, and his eventual reunion, as a broken-down older horse, with his original keeper/companion. Both books do an excellent job of capturing the horse's perspective, and both offer a moving portrait of their equine heroes and the humans they encounter.Of course, Smoky, The Cow Horse is set in the ranching country of the western United States, in the early years of the twentieth century, and Black Beauty in nineteenth-century England. While Black Beauty is a saddle-horse (to begin with, anyway), Smoky spends his first few years in the wild, before being broken as a working horse. And my, how beautifully James captures that early time in Smoky's life, the dynamics of the wild horse herd, the instincts of a young colt! The writing here is highly idiomatic - a sort of western/cowboy dialect that, while not "correct" English, has a poetic and highly descriptive quality to it. Many readers seem to have had trouble with James' language, but I found that, after a period of adjustment, it really resonated with me, and added to the beauty of the story.There are many things I enjoyed about this book, from the language to the characters, and I will not soon forget the understated pathos of the love that develops between Smoky and Clint, the cowboy who breaks the high-spirited horse in, and becomes his only human friend. The mistreatment that Smoky suffers, after being stolen by a brutal horse thief, and eventually turned into a rodeo attraction, was very difficult to read about, and even the happy ending, with its reunion of horse and man, can't quite take away its sting. The illustrations - done by James himself - are absolutely delightful, although I found myself wishing that I had an older edition, rather than this 1970s reprint, so I could see them as color plates, rather than black and white reproductions.In short, this was in many ways an excellent book, and had it not been for one thing, I might have awarded it four stars. And that "thing," is the racism to be found in the portrait of "the breed" - the mixed-race horse thief who steals Smoky. The constant references to his dark face/complexion, the way this is tied to his brutal treatment of Smoky, seems too pointed (to borrow a friend's word for it) to be dismissed as simply "of the times." Especially when one considers that the inhumane vegetable seller who ends up owning Smoky (Cloudy by then) towards the end of the story, is also described as dark-skinned. When James describes the horse thief as "a degenerate halfbreed and not fit to be classed amongst humans," it's a difficult thing to overlook.Thankfully, the section involving the horse-thief (I refuse to call him "the breed!") is short. But although I wouldn't say it was the focus of the story, the racism is pronounced enough that it is a real detraction from the book's appeal. This is one I would recommend only to more mature horse-book lovers, who are old enough to have a discussion about the unfortunate racism to be found within its covers, either with a parent or a teacher.

[auntieknickers · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I didn't read a great many horse books as a child, but this was a favorite. I think my parents found it at a used book sale; I remember the cover, which had a similar illustration to the one pictured, but I think a black border. I'll be interested to reread it when I get back to 1927 in my project of reading all the Newbery Winners.

[schmerguls · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This book won the Newberry medal in 1927. It appears that it is the 10th such winner I have read. But it is not a good book for kids to read since it uses for no discernible reason bad grammar continually. It never says "knew" but instead says "knowed". It also deliberately misspells words saying "figgered" for '"figured". I found this very irritating and deplored that such a book would be thought to be a good book for kids trying to use literste English. It tells of a horse born in Montana who is eventually trained to be a horse used to handle cattle. The book is often boring and uninspiring. I kind of liked the ending--the only good part of the book.

[gttexas · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A great book!

[debnance_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A story of a great horse. Smoky is taught to be an excellent cowhorse, but even in his training, the cowboy teaching him sees the unusual abilities of this horse. Smoky spends many years as a cowhorse with Clint and the other cowboys, but one year, he is stolen by a renegade. The renegade treats Smoky harshly and turns Smoky into a bucking bronco, the fiercest horse in the West. Smoky spends many years establishing a reputation as a killer bronco, but gradually he grows old and tired and is sent to serve as a horse providing pony rides for children and old people. Somehow Clint finds Smoky again and the story ends happily ever after.The most fun part of the story is the way the whole book is written in cowboy dialect. The parts with the renegade have lots of racial slurs and can be difficult for a modern reader to get through.

[sharontheil_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

We experience this story primarily through the eyes of the horse. This is one of only two horse stories to win the Newbery Medal. The other is King of the Wind: The Story of the Godolphin Arabian. The author, Will James, was himself a cowboy during the final days of the Wild West and is able to create the language and atmosphere of the Old West. Will James is a master author and illustrator who illustrated the story with scenes of Smoky at his wildest, at his fiercest, and at his finest. The story follows Smoky from the open range to his life as a cow horse, a rodeo star, and finally a saddle horse. When he is stolen, his cowboy Clint Barkley, the only cowboy Smokey will allow to ride him, tracks him down. This is a realistic animal story that allows the reader to really understand and appreciate these beautiful animals. The universal themes of courage, loyalty and true friendship combine with the authentic portrayal of ranch life, making this book a great read.

[pamelahornsby · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Read this when I was a child and loved it so. The drawings are wonderful, done by the author. This is the book that made me realize my destiny. I work with animals. I rescue as many as I can from cruel owners. And I think I might owe it all to Smoky. My copy is the original hardback. Lucky me.

[mirrani_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I can easily see why this book won the Newbery Award. While I was reading I felt that I was sitting down at the campfire after a long day at work, listening to the story being told to me. The casual words of the cowboy just came naturally through, spelled and used as they would have been right there on the ranch. Though it is quickly described as being like Black Beauty with ranch hands, it was very entertaining and educational to follow the life of one ranch horse and see what could happen to him back in the days of the real cowboy.

[tjsjohanna_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was an enjoyable read, though the colloquial language took some time to get used to. Mr. James convincingly describes the life of Smoky, the cowhorse. While he describes Smoky as having some human feelings, he also manages to make Smoky seem realistically a horse. Smoky's life is somewhat tragic - the more so since his life is not untypical. But there is a happy ending and examples of real kindness.

[aussiecowgurl · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is the book that started my obsession with Will James. If you love simple language and horses, this is the book for you. It's the chronicle of a man who breaks and trains a wonderful horse named oddly enough, Smokey. It's a simple man finds horse, man looses horse, and all the cruel and spirit breaking circumstances that change this horse to a loveing companion to a man killing renegade. The transformation is completed in the end, when Smokey finds his way back to his loving cowboy. This book is the Black Beauty of the American West! I recommend you read it and read it to your children.!

[riofriotex · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Brief review of this 1927 Newbery winner: realistic horse story/Western set in the early 20th century for reading levels of grade 6 and up; great illustrations by the author.

[sunnysd_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

One of my favorite Will James books, the story follows the life of a range bred cow pony from his birth on through the years until he's finally earned his time at pasture. The simple ups and downs, confusion of learning to be saddled, life with good owners and bad, all are here. Smokey's life is neither idealized nor does he magically communicate with the humans he encounters. He's simply a cow pony, living the life of a horse in the West of his day.

[mrslee_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is a cowboy version of Black Beauty. I like it better because I like cowboys. Lots of "horse sense".